


Dragon God

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Little smut, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You are to be married, and seek out the temple of the dragon god for an alternative solution.





	Dragon God

You were to be married.

You were to be married above your status- lending you no leverage in the relationship whatsoever-, above your wealth- a pawn fit for providing money-, to a lord brutal enough that even children would stop smiling in his presence.

It angered you beyond control.

It was true- you were the oldest of your siblings, and thus had the obligation to marry wealthy so you could provide a wealthy heir, and out of all your sisters you’d had the most education. But the lords of Hamasaki were all known for treating their wives sub-par.

And you weren’t an idiot. You knew running away would be shoving the responsibility off on the second oldest sister, Yume. You also knew your parents would only listen if you could provide a better deal: a better marriage prospect, a promise of a better life, whatever you could manage.

You realized that particular bout of wisdom while you were having tea with Yume.

“Life is all but fair,” she sighs- soft black hair framing her delicate face as she sips from her cup.

“You seem less excited about this than I,” you note with a smile, though the thought fills you with dread anyway. If she was already this resigned to the worst, and she wasn’t the one marrying him, what were you supposed to feel?

“You’ve heard the stories,” she says, looking right at you, reminiscent of your mother, “the only way this is solved is if you’re marrying someone with more wealth.”

“There’s no one in the valley with more wealth.”

“There are the temples of the dragon gods.”

You both sip your tea at the same time.

“The gods don’t concern themselves with marriage to-“ you start, but Yume shushes you.

“The younger dragon god married a travelling monk who proved himself devoted,” she says, “it’s a veritable love story. And Lord Hamasaki can’t beat a _god_.”

“So I’m to throw myself at a, perhaps non-existent, dragon who might be equally horrible?” you ask her, remembering the stories.

“What, you believe those stories?” Yume smiles, “the younger god, bested by his brother, the terrible blue dragon, who’s reign left emperor and peasant cowering in fear?”

“Though the brother, older and wiser, left temple servants shedding many a tear,” you complete the silly rhyme with a smirk, “Still, he might very well be an actual legend. I doubt the gods would come down from their realm to help out one woman.”

“You have a month to find out,” she says with a wink, carefully getting up, “and if I were you, I’d give it a go. The temple’s a stone throw’s away from here.”

* * *

It was a sunny morning when you set out for the temple, dressed in a simple yukata. The town was already bustling with people working, or selling goods along the streets, and you’d taken enough care to avoid the palanquin of the lord you were supposed to marry.

The temple still stood tall- the dragon gods were revered and worshipped to avoid floods or barren lands- and you’d slipped in through a side entrance, hoping to find a room where you could meditate quietly.

Also, you’d prefer no one to hear you plead for marriage with a god.

You carefully sat down in a smaller room adorned with golden statues of dragons- it seemed to be a bit gaudy, considering how many there were, but it had a certain charm.

After settling down, you looked up at the scroll on the wall- honor.

You sighed.

“This is ridiculous,” was all you muttered, before paying your respects and leaving.

* * *

You were back two days later, in the same room, thinking things through.

“If I marry Lord Hamasaki, my family would be protected, and though I’d probably be killed if I didn’t provide a male heir, at least I could live with them being safe-“

You looked up at the scroll.

“Who am I kidding? He’d just as well mistreat them. Maybe I should give him a similar scroll to dissuade him from beating me senseless.”

A soft breeze wafted through the room, but your eyes never left the scroll.

“Perhaps I should run.”

Silence was your only answer, but you knew it wasn’t an option- it just felt nice to consider it.

* * *

Yume drags your mother away right in front of the temple the next day when you are out shopping for kimono- urging you to go to the temple. You decide that’s not a bad idea. Despite being hopeless, it had given you time to think and come to terms with things slowly.

You sit down in the exact same spot and only notice a few moments later that there’s a rug beneath your legs, making it slightly more bearable to kneel down on.

“So people do come here and leave offers,” you mutter before taking out a hairpin, carefully placing it among the statues.

“It’s not much, but I haven’t quite mastered making dumplings.”

* * *

You return three days later with dumplings your sister Yumiko made- she hadn’t given you any weird looks when you’d asked, most likely informed by Yume about the purpose of the dumplings.

When you arrive at the temple, it’s quiet- due to the rain, many people were staying home. When you slip out of your sandals in front of the sliding door, it suddenly opens- startling you beyond compare when you notice there is someone there.

A man, black hair tied up into a ponytail, with specks of grey peaking out at his ears- his eyes are a deep blue and he’s wearing kyudo-gi.

“Ah, I am so sorry. I will return-“ you start, ready to close the doors again, when he turns to you with a scowl.

“No need.”

For some reason, his face- though handsome- looks weathered and tired, and you glance at the dumplings in your arms.

“Dumpling?” you ask, shuffling inside, sitting just far enough away from him to be respectable but close enough to hand the package to him. He looks you over before taking it, eating it with a lot of care- more than you, at least, you think, when you wolf one down.

“These were offerings?” he asks, voice low- it feels like he’s staring right through you and you wonder what he’s praying to the dragon god for.

“Indeed. I am spending some time before my marriage…getting accustomed to the idea.”

You can’t help the disappointment slipping through- or your scowl, or your voice getting quieter the longer the sentence drags on. You’ve averted your gaze away from the man, staring at the scroll as always.

“An arranged marriage?” he asks, before looking at your hairpin.

“You are promised to the Lord,” he concludes, and you don’t quite know how he knows, but he does. You’re guessing word travels fast and you were urged to dress in a certain manner so people would know what family you belonged to, so perhaps it wasn’t that weird.

“Indeed,” you smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Why does a soon-to-be bride look for solace with the dishonorable dragon god?”

You don’t know why he would risk being smote for insulting a god in his own temple, but you reckon this man has done a lot worse.

“My sister proposed I might try to ask for his hand in marriage.”

It sounds as ridiculous said out loud as it did in your head.

“She’s a bit weird, sometimes,” you instantly add, “but the temple provides good grounds for meditation.”

“You’d rather marry a god than a Lord?” he asks, seemingly interested, turning to you a bit more. The blue of his garb compliments his eyes.

“At least I’ll know where I stand with a god,” you sigh, risking eye contact again. You’d limited outside contact for fear of falling for someone you weren’t going to have- and you were starting to get scared that this handsome stranger might provide you with the dream of a better possibility.

He hums in a sort of agreeing way, though he doesn’t seem wholly convinced. You bid him farewell and leave soon after, thinking it through yourself.

* * *

The next day, you find yourself hoping the handsome stranger will be back, but he’s not. You notice the room is still filled to the brim with statues, but they seem to be rearranged to better give space to worshippers- and they seemed to be cleaner.

You carefully sit down and remember the taste of Yumiko’s dumplings, and eyes like the sea, and deep blue fabric.

This wasn’t really going anywhere, but you stay and think until the sun goes down.

* * *

You don’t manage to get back to the temple for another 4 days because of marriage preparations- fitting your kimono and choosing accessories, and whatever else- so when you finally do, you are relieved to be alone.

For the first time in a while, you let your tears flow free- you didn’t want this, you’d never want this, and though you knew you had to resign to your fate it was now becoming so real it scared you.

When you let out a sniffle and look back at the scroll, you notice dumplings- dumplings that were most certainly not there before, but they are here now, steaming and looking absolutely delicious.

You’ve never eaten so fast- and startle when the door slides open and it is the handsome stranger. Mouth full of dumpling, cheeks tinted red and tears streaming down, you turn to the other side of the room, muttering something about ‘shameful appearances’ and whatnot.

You hear him take a seat.

“How long until the marriage?” he asks, no hint of emotion in his voice. You swallow the chewed piece of dumpling that was still in your mouth and hope your voice doesn’t crack.

“19 days.”

You hear some shuffling as you still refuse to look- you’d turn when your eyes weren’t swollen and red anymore.

“You still have time to convince the dragon,” he mutters, and you are pretty sure  he is getting up- you turn when his back is to you and he’s perusing some of the statues.

“I don’t think he’s running warm for the offer,” you note dryly, but the stranger doesn’t seem startled, running his fingers along one of the smaller statues.

“The dragon god has never had a wife. Perhaps you might be the one to inspire legends,” he says while turning to you, looking into your eyes with some kind of determination. For something. You weren’t quite sure what, but you decide to stare back.

“I’d rather not give myself false hope.”

You sound defeated, and the silence is enough of an answer, you think while you leave.

* * *

Three days later, you are looking at all the statues. There’s small and big dragons, with different kinds of scales and fur, all seemingly resting peacefully. You never noticed before but it seems peculiar that they would all fit together so well. Perhaps a rich lord donated the statues?

“You don’t want to inspire false hope, yet you keep returning,” the familiar stranger says from the doorway.

You just hum in acknowledgement and keep your attention on the dragons.

“Would you prefer to be alone?”

You must’ve come off incredibly rude, you realize- you turn and shake your head.

“No, by all means! I’d rather not, actually,” you say, “do you know who made these statues?”

He walks over to your side and you can feel the warmth of his skin- close enough to touch, but not quite doing that.

“I do not. They are very old.”

“They are very beautiful,” you smile- when you turn your head he’s closer than expected, and you find yourself getting lost in the sheer beauty of one man.

“Indeed,” he hums, “a relic of the past.”

“Who are you exactly?” you blurt it out before you can stop yourself- he knows who you are, which is fine, but you have no idea who this handsome, temple-dwelling stranger is.

He turns as well, now, eyes cloudy as he tries to find some ulterior motive in yours.

“No one of importance.”

Not an answer to your question, but you’ll take it as a ‘don’t ask anymore’.

“I see,” you smile, “do you want something from the dragon god?”

His pause makes you panic- were you asking too many questions?

“I mean, considering I’m here with an ulterior motive and such, I was assuming…”

You are blushing now- overstepping social boundaries with clear ease as you find yourself more curious each day about the stranger.

He changes the subject with ease, seemingly not that offended, and when you head home you feel an odd feeling in your chest.

* * *

A day later, you meet the handsome stranger in the courtyard and walk to your meeting place together. For the first time, you take good care in absorbing his appearance- the well-fitted clothes in blue and black and grey that compliment his stern look, his beard, the grey hairs that frame his face.

Without thinking, you say your name when it occurs that you haven’t actually introduced yourself yet- his blue eyes turn and stare.

“My name. I hadn’t yet-“ you start, blushing again- you were wondering why you were prone to doing that around him.

“Hanzo,” he says, “my name is Hanzo.”

It rings through your head during your small-talk, and when he gets up and you look at the fold in his kimono that reveals his chest, and when he bids you goodbye.

Hanzo.

* * *

The next day, his name still lingers in the back of your mind, accompanied with the warm feeling in your chest from a few days ago. You don’t quite understand it yet, but you had a feeling that hanging out with the mysterious stranger- Hanzo, your mind whispers, Hanzo- was going to make your arranged marriage even more miserable.

You don’t tell him that when you meet him in the courtyard again, though. You are glad you’ve gone from accidentally meeting to seemingly waiting for each other, though it seemed a strange coincidence that whenever he was in the courtyard, no one else was.

Today, he tells you the story of the two dragons, the older brother and the younger brother who, despite strained relationships in the past, had gotten along again through the power of their followers.

How the younger brother had found true love and was urging the older brother to pursue it as well.

He didn’t mention how he knew it in such detail, and he didn’t mention the dragons’ names.

You listen attentively, more focused on the sound of his voice if you are being completely honest.

* * *

It takes you four days to be able to go back. You are sad to find Hanzo isn’t around this time,  but you still spend most of the day touring the temple and praying ever so often. Praying that, perhaps, through dumb luck- you’d be able to find true love.

(You actually mean getting to know Hanzo better.)

* * *

It is raining, and you find yourself returning to your ‘meeting spot’ in the courtyard, lingering a bit longer when he doesn’t arrive immediately.

You don’t understand the fluttering in your stomach when you see his silhouette on the other side, trudging through the rain. You can’t explain why you are relieved, or how your heart feels warmer when he greets you.

So you decide not to think about it.

“You are to be married soon, correct?” he asks you when you offer him one of Yumiko’s dumplings, and you find the question to be obnoxious- not because of Hanzo, but because everyone has been trying to hype you up for the upcoming wedding. You hated it.

“Indeed,” you dryly reply.

Your emotions take another leap when the back of his hand brushes against yours while you walk, warm and rough. You were starting to wonder what it would feel like if he’d actually take your hand in his- how much bigger were his hands than yours?

You reckoned they’d fit perfectly.

“Your husband will be a lucky man,” Hanzo says, a restrained tone lacing his voice as you turn your head to him with a wild look in your eyes.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

You don’t mask the venom, the implications- you were going to go through with it because of obligation but that didn’t mean you’d bow your head and play ‘humble wife’. It clearly amuses your conversational partner, a smile on Hanzo’s face as he lets out a curt chuckle.

“Whoever does earn your love will be a lucky man, then,” he corrects- the way he looks you in your eyes- though you know it is your budding feelings converting everything into ‘a sign’- is dreamy.

“I am not that much of a catch, I’m afraid,” you smile back.

The sound of the rain hitting the wood is the only thing you hear for a while, until Hanzo clears his throat.

“I…think you are.”

He seems to say it with a hesitance, but when you glance at him he looks as stoic as ever.

“Thank you,” you say, blush taking over your face, “it is a pity I will never be a catch, then.”

* * *

Three days creep by at the slowest pace- though you are still only able to visit the temple now. You’d been kept up by small tasks and conversations with your sisters- all of whom are very empathic and understanding, trying to make the situation seem more pleasant than it will be.

Hanzo isn’t at the temple today, either- he told you a few days ago he had some preparations to make and so he hoped to see you as soon as he could, but it might take a few days.

You sit down quietly and eat your dumpling in silence, remembering every step you’ve taken with Hanzo by your side.

For the first time, you acknowledge that you like Hanzo. You know it’s too early to speak of love, of the deep affection you’ve seen a select few people share, but there is a spark that makes you long for the possibility.

You said a little prayer hoping Hanzo was richer and more powerful than the lord.

And then quietly added that someone would convey that to your parents.

* * *

You don’t listen to your mother when she tells you to stay home the next morning. Your parents are worried you are thinking about running off with a man, and in part they are right to be concerned, but you’d also explicitly promised her you didn’t abandon family, no matter what. 

Hanzo isn’t at the temple once again, but a monk is- one with a kind face and simple clothes. You didn’t think anyone else offered things in the small statue-room, but he seems to be at home.

“Hello,” he smiles, and motions for you to take a seat.

“Hello,” you mimick, sitting down quietly.

“I am not the one you are expecting?” he asks with a knowing smile, and you nod.

“There’s a kind stranger who I’ve been seeing around here a lot. Soon I won’t see him anymore, but he has something to take care of, so he can’t visit.”

“Perhaps he needs some time off to make a decision.”

It seems silly when the monk offers those words, but they still haunt your thoughts when you try to go to bed that night.

* * *

Your father asks you to stop for your own sake, but you find yourself being comforted by the hard wooden floor of the temple.

* * *

You can’t sleep anymore, days blending into each other, but the next sunrise you are back at the temple. Always back at the temple. No Hanzo, today. You figure you will not see him again. And there's no reason to stay here anymore, anyway.

* * *

Another sunrise, another visit to the temple. A short visit, this time- a desperate visit that ends with you stomping away. This was it. Your chance of romance, gone with the wind.

* * *

This time, you are here to be married- suddenly, the structure of the temple looks less inviting and more like a prison. Everyone close has gathered- though you raise an eyebrow when you don’t recognize half of the crowd, only your family. You had always known most of the Hamasaki’s by face, so they should be here- or maybe they’d make some lavish, unnecessary entrance.

The monk beckons your forward and doesn’t seem to mind your surprised expression- in fact, it seems like he knew, purifying you by yourself as the first part of the ceremony.

When he’s done- you wait respectfully because he is only doing his job- you lean forward.

“I am so sorry-“ you start, searching for a name you can call him.

“Zenyatta,” he smiles, motioning for you to continue.

“Zenyatta, where is the groom?” you ask quietly, not wanting to seem stupid or alarm anyone.

“I think he is about to arrive-“

Zenyatta has all but finished that sentence as the grounds are covered in a long shadow, and before you know it, a long, tall blue dragon with black tufts of fur and golden nails enters the temple and takes a seat next to you.

Your family seems significantly less surprised than they ought to be at the dragon in your midst.

It must be a funny sight- you are leaning back and breathing in quietly, counting your breaths to calm yourself as the giant creature is sitting next to you. It’s eyes look at you every so often, and there is something familiar about their blue hue, but you can’t place it and quite frankly don’t want to right now.

Zenyatta places down two sake cups as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, pouring the liquid quietly.

“Now, please share this sake.”

When the dragon picks up the tiny cup- tiny for him, at least- it would’ve been funny, but you seem to move automatically, hand taking the cup and taking a sip in time with the dragon.

The dragon god had heard your prayers.

Amazing- and terrifying.

“Now, you will share the words of commitment.”

You turn to look at the dragon. Can it even talk?

“This woman I, Hanzo Shimada, marry in sickness and in health-“

Your eyes turn wide as you look into his big blue ones; “This man I marry, in sickness and in health-“

“I will love this person, respect this person, console this person and help this person until death do us part-“

Suddenly, it’s talons seem less terrifying and the black fur resembles his hair more; “I will love this person, respect this person, console this person and help this person until death do us part-“

“Protecting fidelity. This I swear.”

“Protecting fidelity. This I swear.”

You don’t know how you talk, but you do it- words flowing out even though there’s a million thoughts going through your head.

“And now, an offering to the gods.”

As if on cue, Zenyatta takes out a bowl of dumplings and places them in front of Hanzo.

“I think now an explanation is in order,” Zenyatta says, looking at you with a nod, and you return it almost immediately.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Hanzo says, reaching out a paw, which you take for some reason, “so I spoke to your parents, and Lord Hamasaki. And arranged for your wedding to be a bit more pleasant.”

When you’re quiet, you see some doubt flash in his eyes.

“Unless, of course, I have presumed too hastily that-“

“Thank you,” you say right before you start sniffling- tears of happiness pooling in the corners of your eyes.

Things go very fast after that- considering only your family and a few others were present, they all get hustled out of the temple as Hanzo transforms into his human form- the familiar man with the scowl and the same pretty eyes.

He doesn’t say much, but when he approaches and caresses your cheek, you lean into the touch with a smile- when he picks you up in his arms, you are content.

 “We have to consummate the marriage,” he whispers in your ear and your legs turn to jelly.

“Now?” you ask as he carries you further into the temple, smirk on his face.

“Your family will be coming over soon to move in. We should be decent once more to greet them.”

You’ve married the devil, you’re sure, but you’re blushing enough to show him you’re not opposed to the idea.

When he carefully places you on the softest futon you’ve ever had the pleasure of resting on, he wastes no time removing his upper garments. You start fiddling with your obi, as well- best not to risk him tearing it to shreds.

His hands stop yours.

“This is your first time?” he asks- not a demand, but a statement, and you nod as he carefully undoes the obi and it falls on the futon.

“I will be gentle,” he whispers as one hand caresses your face, “and if you want to stop, you need only tell me. Do you want to wait?”

You lean into the touch and smile.

“No, I would like to-“ you hesitate, blinking- he understands your embarrassment and his lips touch yours instead. You are too busy focusing on the new sensations to notice him carefully slipping off your layers of kimono- his lips are warm and rough.

“Have you, uh,” you start, hands making weird movements when he pulls back for a breather, “done this before?”

The devious smirk on his face is a clear yes as his hands are on the edge of your final layer of clothing, ready to reveal you completely to him.

“May I?” he whispers, and you nod- when he slips it open, you help him get it off of your arms. He seems to revel in the way you look- taking in every inch of your body with his hungry eyes. It both makes you feel incredibly shy as well as confident- Hanzo was a beautiful man, and for him to seem so worked up over you was a good feeling.

He’s quick to get back to kissing- not your lips, this time, but your neck and collarbones and exposed breasts and soon he is toying with your nipples, earning him embarrassed gasps.

You’re too busy focusing on the sensations to notice one hand trail down and carefully caress your folds- it’s when he finds your clit that you lock your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life as he makes quick work of stimulating you- lick, bite, stroke.

“H-hanzo-“

“Yes, my love?” he whispers, length poking the inside of your thigh.

You don’t know what to say. You said his name as a knee-jerk reaction, not really a question.

“This is-“ he pauses as you search for the right words, “wonderf-oOh”

He quickly continues when the sentence was heading in a positive and consensual direction, fingers entering you with care- stretching and preparing.

When he slides in completely, you throw  your head back and let out a moan you’d never imagine you’d be able to make.

Every thrust is bliss- you don’t know where the warm feeling comes from but it is absolutely amazing and you are starting to have trouble thinking straight as he leaves featherlight kisses on your cheekbones and jawline and neck.

When you come, tightening around him, he’s soon to follow- you don’t know how long you are just laying on top of each other but it’s a blissful kind of cuddling.

* * *

“There’s my mother and father, Jurou and Haruko Miyamoto, my sisters Yumiko, Shizuka, Yume and Kyo and my brothers Yuuta and Sho.”

You swore you could see Hanzo’s eye twitch at the sheer amount of family, but Genji and Zenyatta seemed happy to welcome them all.

“Did I agree to house them all?” Hanzo asks nonchalantly, hand squeezing yours as you chuckle.

“You did, lord Hanzo. But it’s alright, Yumiko agreed to make dumplings every day.”


End file.
